This New World
by idonrlycarenemore
Summary: James and Lily don’t get married. Harry Potter is born under strange circumstances. The Boy Who Lived becomes the Boy Who Was Born. WIP. Not always Marauder Era. Harry/Pansy, but not a central factor.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: James and Lily don't get married. Harry Potter is born under strange circumstances. The Boy Who Lived becomes the Boy Who Was Born. WIP.**

**1. ****  
**

James was always watching her. His friends often snarked whenever he would, and James could _never_ make a fool of himself.

"Alright there, Evans? Not having any problem with your blemish potion? I 'spect you'd need it for our date Saturday!"

She'd always roll her eyes like the ceiling was her godsend, and would go whispering furiously to Tandy Johnson, the pretty black witch who bore the consequences of Lily's refusals.

"He's such a sleaze, Tandy, I can't stand the way he bloody looks at me! It's like, sort of, like he wants to _eat _me, or something. Like I'm a big juicy steak, and he's—"

"Goyle after famine?" Tandy had replied, and Lily had laughed.

"Yes, that exactly."

"He _likes _you, Lil. That's called _lust_." Tandy said with a knowing grin on her face. And James would always hear, from anyone:

"I could _never_ fancy James Potter. He's a despicable, bastardly prick."

And it would hurt more than anything else she'd ever say.

Later James would lie awake, hearing Peter snore more than Remus hummed, wondering what she had meant by saying such things.

By _never_, did she mean not within the next month? And _despicable_, he was hardly _despicable_. Sprightly, hyper, even a little annoying, but he wasn't _despicable_. And bastardly was hardly fair. He could trace his ancestors to the very beginnings of his Pureblood, even farther than the Peverells. Prick was definitely not applicable, he decided. He did have a rather large one (if he did say so himself), but not so much that it _was him_. He was black hair and hazel eyes and muscles, too. Not just lovely prick.

James Potter was so arrogant that even in Fifth Year he knew Lily had to have wanted him. How could she not? Everyone wanted Quidditch-playing Potter.

Everyone but Evans.

-- --

Lily wasn't above letting him touch her. Poor Severus, always assuming Potter was the only force he had reckoning with. It was difficult to keep this from him, Severus just always _knew_, but she did.

It was more than frightening that she'd managed to let Andrew Nott get this close. He called her his little toy, his little virgin, and she let him. She just wanted to _feel_, wanted someone with enough experience to set her soul alight. Andrew Nott with his long fingers and smooth smiles was just the person to.

"Fucking Mudblood." He breathed as he palmed her breasts in his large, thin hands.

"N-not—"

"But my dear—what else are you?" He'd smirk and his hand would travel lower, Lily writhing as he reached her underwear.

"Fucking Mudblood." He repeated, and moved for the buttons on his trousers.

Freeze.

"Fucking, Mudblood,_virgin_—"

End.

-- --

Dark, dark, dark.

Red, red, red.

Soft, soft, soft.

Safe, safe, safe.

Squish.

HUNGRY.

EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT

Full, full, full.

Still dark, still dark, still dark.

Moving.

Out.

Home.

HOME, HOME, HOME

NOT HOME NOT HOME NOT HOME

-- --

Snape was crying.

Dumbledore looked on dispassionately, past the tears sliding down Snape's sallow, hollow cheeks into his brain.

Intricate whorls floated around nervously before Snape looked up, and BLOCK, Dumbledore left.

"Dead—dead—dead…all my fault, killing, just _killed _her."

"You must fetch her for me, Snape. It is of the utmost important that you fetch her. And you also fetch James Potter."

"_Potter_? He's not, of consequence, haven't seen him in years—"

Dumbledore blinked and looked on.

"James is of the utmost importance."

"But _why_?"

"Get him. Get him, and you shall know. But do it _now _Severus. Do it _now_."

Snape looks up, and his eyes narrow.

But he will do it. Because he loves Lily.

And he will do anything this man says.

-- --

a/n—Another new story. I'm just spitting these out, aren't I? Rather confusing, but it does have a point. And short. Oh yes, short. New chapter up soon. R&R.

Peaches,

Anya


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

Don't you remember?

She was always going out late.

Work, study…

Nott.

Fucked Nott.

Fucked James.

Lily fucked James.

Severus' head meets his hands.

Seventh Year, she didn't say yes.

James asked, she didn't say yes—what?

He snuck throughout the street warily, the sheer Muggle-ness of the area reminding him of his old home. Near Lily, and that bloody Petunia.

The place where he'd first fallen in love.

Voldemort had left the body, and wouldn't let Snape see.

"Filthy Mudblood." He'd proclaimed, and Snape was sick. Lily hadn't been a disturbance, hadn't been a self-righteous Auror like James was, but Voldemort was punishing Snape.

He'd failed to murder Prudence Nott, even though her husband had been a traitor, and for that he was being punished.

Love for love.

He couldn't murder Prudence, so Voldemort murdered Lily.

James had died the same night.

Snape still saw lights exploding behind his eyes as they knocked him out.

"Snape—mustn't_see_!" Voldemort had hissed, and Crabbe and Goyle had knocked him out. They were both expecting children, boys.

Snape felt sick. Oswald Parkinson was expecting a child, his wife, Bertha, was four months pregnant, and Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa had been trying for ages.

"We want you to be the godfather, Severus. You'll look after our son, won't you Severus?" Narcissa had pleaded, her eyes, blue, compelled him. Severus had never been one to resist Cissy.

"How do you know it's a boy? He hasn't even been conceived." Snape said haughtily. Narcissa had smiled, her ghostly beauty magnified by the blonde hair whispering around her face as the breeze took it.

"I just know."

The lights had been strangely similar to the colour of Narcissa's hair, Snape remembered. White blonde yellow, he'd always described it. Not the silvery colour of Lucius. Snape had always preferred Narcissa's hair.

The lights had come upon him, and then black smeared his vision.

When he woke up, Lily was dead.

-- --

Coming for mother, a man is coming for mother, mother, mother, my mother…

Dead, dead, dead.

My mother, mother, mother, my, dead.

DEAD DEAD DEAD

So hungry, always so hungry.

FOOD FOOD FOOD

NEED FOOD

Need mother, dead, dead, mother.

My mother dead.

My dead.

Dead Mother.

-- --

Snape slid into the house with trepidation. It was deceptively bright and pretty, yellows, creams and pinks shot out at him.

There she was.

Snape cried in delight and ran to embrace her, but was stopped by something. An invisible barrier.

Sparkles and glitter surrounded the area he could not touch, and then fell back. Lily's red hair whipped around her face, looking lighter under the eerie lights. Her mouth and eyes were closed, and she had a peaceful expression on her face.

Snape understood, then. Dumbledore had put a spell on her body to keep it preserved, must have planned it even before she died. Lily wasn't alive. She was dead.

Snape looked at the slender piece of parchment in his hand.

"_Aufero Obex_," He breathed, and the barrier fell from around Lily's body.

"Reducio," He said quietly, and Lily shrank. He took her up and placed her slowly and carefully into the special bottle Dumbledore had given him.

Time for Potter.

Snape curled his lip.

-- --

Narcissa hadn't had an easy pregnancy. She'd been trying to get pregnant since the end of Hogwarts, but she _couldn't_.

She'd tried everything, fertility potions, Midwitches, even Muggle remedies. But she just couldn't.

When Draco had come, they'd been so proud. Five months into it, and Lucius was regretting having this fucking baby anyway.

"Oh _Merlin_! I need _sugar_! Get me some Florean Fortescue's _now_!"

Fifteen minutes later, Lucius had returned with what appeared to be a small tub of shite.

"THIS LOOKS LIKE SHITE LUCIUS!"

Returned with cranberry-raisin, a flavour Narcissa had fancied before.

"I DON'T WANT ANY BLOODY FRUITS IN MY ICE CREAM! _Zut alors!_"

Rush to the ice cream parlour.

Return.

"I don't want any bloody ice cream, the stuff makes me sick."

And there was pain, as well. Long nights of _merde, merde, this hurts_, and even longer nights when Lucius was out with Voldemort, and Narcissa was left to ponder this yoke growing in her body by herself.

And then he was born, in his seventh month.

Premature.

He wasn't going to make it, but he did. Because he wanted to, and because Draco Malfoy would fuck up everything for everyone for the rest of his life.

And for the rest of everyone's life, really.

-- --

a/n—Well. The plot thickens. The mystery of the weird caps-locky speaker will come out later, as well as the important of Lily and James' bodies. The last line is meant to remain ambiguous. Next chap up soon. And yes, I'm aware that I posted another chapter in the same day as the first one. What can I say? I've finished chapters three and four as well!

Peaches,

Anya.

Note: Chapter after this one squick-y. You have been warned.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

He'd always been a sickly boy. Almost died hundreds of times, sneezed himself to death, coughed himself into comas, hell, Harry James Potter had almost breathed himself into oblivion.

Small, pale, but given bright green eyes, the colour of Avada, and the colour of death. Born out of death, born into the death. Eyes of death.

His aunt and uncle had brought him up, and paid his expensive medical bills even though they shouldn't've.

He wasn't allowed to ask questions, but his room was always spotless and there was always a glass of water, his Dramamine and Zyrtec on his bedside table, next to his inhaler and emergency oxygen tube.

Note.

"Have taken Dudley out to the Zoo. Will be home by seven. For God's sake boy, don't blow up the television."

And Harry had glared, the force of it almost bringing on a coughing fit.

Drop note, take inhaler.

Puff.

Breathe.

One, two.

In, out.

Turn back 'round.

Ashes on his nightstand.

-- --

"Oi Mum! Ickle Ronnikins' finally showing 'is magic!"

"_His_ magic, Fred dear. Really Ron? Go on, give us a look-see."

"Watch then, all of you!" Ginny had yelled loudly. "Gather 'round! The amaaaazing Ronald Weasley does his first spell! That'll be five knuts, won't it George? Give over, Mum, Dad."

As the youngest, Ginny was still cute enough to order her parents around. Fred and George were devious, and in Hogwarts already. Bill and Charlie were supporting themselves. Percy was top in all his classes. Ron was the Weasley who hadn't gotten his magic until he was ten.

"Watch me change the colour of this parchment!" He'd giggled gleefully, and they'd watched him.

Ron concentrated hard, glaring at the tiny scrap of parchment, squinting, and twitching his nose.

"There, see!"

"I don't see a bleeding thing!"

"George!"

"Yes, yes it's cream! Not off-white anymore, but cream!"

"What a bloody fob. Rubbish, Ron."

"_Ginny_!"

"You see it, don't you Mum? It's gone cream, hasn't it?"

"Oh yes, darling, what a lovely trick." Exchange of glances between parents.

"Bloody thing hasn't changed colours, _at all_." Ginny sniffed, stalking off. Ron glared at them all before tears crystallized in the corners of his blue eyes.

"It's really wonderful, Ron." Mr. Weasley tried.

"Useless. I'm useless."

Run away.

Cry.

Don't let them see.

They'll never forgive you for it.

-- --

She was born with a full head of hair.

It was blonde, surprisingly. Blonde, but _thick_.

According to her Dad, she looked less like her current self than he did. They'd thought that she'd had green eyes, but when they left and her eyes were brown, and then flashed green, they noted that her eyes were reflecting the blanket they'd put her in after her mother had birthed her.

Before her first birthday, her hair had darkened, and _curled_. By four she had thick bushy hair, and a wicked, toothy grin.

Age nine, she'd turned her bathwater into blood in a fit of childish rage. Her parents had screamed and she'd pitied them and turned the bathwater back again.

Two years after, she'd gotten her letter.

Hermione Jean Granger was a witch.

-- --

"Lucius Malfoy is a piece of bloody gobshite." Pansy had said, an angelic smile on her face. Bertha Parkinson's jaw had dropped, and she'd yelled to wake the dead.

But not Ben.

She'd never wake Ben again.

"Yes my dearest?" Oswald had remarked dryly, and Bertha had pointed her finger dramatically to her daughter's pudgy face.

"Pansy dearest, what have you learnt this week?" She'd asked, just like she had before.

"Lucius Malfoy is a piece of bloody gobshite!" She'd grinned, and Oswald had drained of colour.

"Oh bugger, sweetheart—"

"BUGGER SWEETHEART!"

"Oswald!"

"Shut up, Pansy—"

"DON'T TELL YOUR BLOODY DAUGHTER TO SHUT UP!"

"Don't tell your BLOODY DAUGHTER to shut up!"

"Oh _Bertha_, not showing Pansy a good example, hmm?"

"Oh do be quiet Oswald, now you're just being difficult,"

"Just not used to dealing with toddling babes, are we Berthy?"

"Well it wasn't as difficult with Ben—"

Silence.

"Ben! BEN! BEN BEN BEN MY BEN I WANT BEN!" And Pansy wailed. Bertha and Oswald shuttered back on.

"Put her to bed. I'll get Trixie to make dinner." Bertha turned away, and left the room.

"Ben?" Pansy had asked.

"No Ben. There is _no_ Ben."

"No Ben." Pansy had repeated, and slowly fell asleep.

-- --

a/n-These aren't so much chapters as chapterlets, but that means I'll spit them out faster. Mainly insight into the lives of the Harry Potter-lets (very un-original Author's note, yes I _know_), this chapter. Next chapter more insight into the James/Lily/Snape/Dumblydorr plot. As you can tell, Harry is obviously alive so WTF is happening, right?

Peaches,

Anya


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

"I'm turning them into inferi, Snape. And then I will tell you what to do." Dumbledore said as Snape removed the bodies from the bottles.

"_Novo corpus_," he whispered, and both bodies stood slowly, swaying unsteadily as they came to their feet.

Snape looked up, and was terrified. It was looking into the blankness of their bodies, and he was surprised not to see the James Inferius taunt, or the Lily to stare.

"You are going to have to shock them, Snape." Dumbledore said, and Snape's jaw dropped.

Shocking was immoral.

Illegal.

And probably the daftest idea Dumbledore had come up with.

Shocking was a process that supposedly allowed a dead body to regain the function of the brain for two minutes.

"What are we doing, Dumbledore?" He asked, nervous.

Shocking was Dark Magic. And, no doubt, Snape was excellent at Dark Magic, but it came with a price. It was addictive.

"We're making a baby."

"W-what?"

"James and Lily are going to have a baby."

James and Lily having a baby.

Babies are born through sex.

Sex.

James and Lily.

Together.

"Why _him_? Why not _me_? I LOVE HER! I love Lily! I want to be the one, the one who makes her child, who feels her, _there_…"

Later.

Hits him.

"But they're dead." He said. She's dead. James' dead.

"They will regain brain activity after they have been shocked."

"But how can James, no blood to his…_genitalia_, and Lily's ovaries, she's not ovulating, can't be ovulating—"

"It won't matter, Severus. All we need is to Accio an egg and to produce the sperm."

"B-but, _how_—"

"How does sperm usually make itself known?" Dumbledore asked coolly, raising one thick white eyebrow.

"J-James can' t_ come_! He's dead!"

"He'll have enough brain activity to orgasm even without the blood pumping. You'll have to do it, within two minutes. _Now_, Severus."

Snape recoiled.

Make James_ what_?

He couldn't, couldn't do that.

"Shock him." Dumbledore said, almost cruelly.

"_Offensus Inferius,_" He whispered, and an explosion of light.

And Lily.

"Accio Ovum!" Dumbledore said steadily, and Snape closed his eyes.

He would finish the job, because he loved her.

"Inferi, can't they—"

Move like humans. Can't they have sex on their own?

"Do you _want_—?"

Lily to share that with James?

_Again_?

It taunted him.

"No! _No_!"

And start.

Ten seconds to go, and Snape had collected the sperm in a flask.

Dumbledore stared indifferently at Snape's wet, cum-soaked hands.

"Scourgify." He said. "Now, we must fuse them. Leave me."

Snape leaves, and is sick on the floor.

He takes his wand, and cleans up his vomit.

Love, Lily, love.

He'll do anything.

-- --

She still doesn't know what made her do it.

What made her reject James' proposal to go out, but sleep with him.

It was probably the most hazy day of her life, the day she'd seen James in their Head common room, wanking off like nobody's business, all the while breathing "Lily", till he came in explosion.

She doesn't really remember stripping herself and lying on top of him, positioning herself accordingly.

She doesn't even remember why she had rejected him before, but she does remember feeling happy while she fucked him.

But something was strange about everything.

She remembered_ something_.

-- --

_Evans—Lily. _

_Go on, give it a go. Can't hurt can it?_

_You know I like you…been proving it to you since second year, haven't I?_

_And, well, I'm not asking for forever. Just once._

_Just so I can prove it. Prove I mean it._

_Come on, Evans._

_Just once._

-- --

Pansy supposes that, in a different world, she might have loved Draco.

Of course, at age nine, it is difficult to fall in love.

Especially with the Dracos in life who only loved themselves.

But he didn't really. Love himself. Actually, he kind of hated himself. He just couldn't bring it upon himself to love Pansy.

It really was a kind of strict ultimatum she had. "Say you like me, and we'll play Extreme Witch Weekly Dolls."

And Draco always screwed up his nose and looked at her out the corner of his eyes.

EWWD was a game he wouldn't admit he played to anyone. EWWD involved the tossing of Witch Weekly Dolls out the balcony, the flushing of the dolls down the toilet, sticking them in the oven, whatever. The sounds they made were appropriately terrifying, and Draco, who was always more weak-stomached than he pretended, would always flinch as they screamed.

"Prepare you for later, D—" Pansy would say as her eyes lit up as the Witch Doll of the Week would scream as she burnt to a crisp, drowned, or broke her legs off.

Draco loved the planning, however, loved the idea of plotting to kill the Dolls, to release them, only to have them fall into a previously set trap.

He loved being tricksy, deceptive, loved getting the Dolls to trust him, then ripping their existence out from under their lifelike feet.

"Keeps me in shape. For later." He said, like later would never come.

"Yes alright then, Pansy. I like you. Love you even, if we can get this bloody game started." And Pansy would giggle and blush (more so at his cursing than his faux declaration of affection).

"Oh, you flatterer! I like you too, Draco! Now, this week's is Lilac Brown. Can't hardly stomach the bint. Let's find out a wicked way to kill her, eh Draco?"

And Draco would laugh at the curse and the gears in his head would start to turn.

Pansy would always grin. She might not have much brains, not be the prettiest rose in the garden, and she would always be cursed with a rather sticky-inny turny-up-y nose, but she could _manipulate_.

She'd always be able to make others do what _she _wanted, and then make it seem like it was all their idea. And she liked that very much.

-- --

a/n—Am being a _total_ bitch to Snape, yes I know. Now that I think about it, James, too, I suppose. This chapter is probably about as close to slash/yaoi I will_ ever_ get. Probably the most squicky chapter for a while. Probably. EWWD shamelessly stolen from Bridge to Terabithia the movie.

_Novo corpus_ basically means to make anew a corpse. Or to revive a corpse. Or invent, if you like.  
_Offensus inferius _means to shock an inferius. Yes, I'm so creative.

Chapter 5 up soon.

Peaches,

Anya


	5. Chapter 5

5. 

She kisses Ron and Harry with less revulsion these days. Before, it made her sick to place her lips to either of their cool, boyish cheeks.

Ron was typical male, large pores, and at his age, slight twinges of stubble (red, flame, red) near his jaw, strong, but not very. Harry, on the other hand, had such fine cheeks that Hermione always felt her lips lingering, feeling the baby softness of the smooth as her mouth tingled. She always saved Harry's kiss for last.

It gave her strength, somehow.

Before, it seemed foreign, frightening to be pressing her lips to cheeks of boys she was most _definitely_ not going to be married to, or in any other relationship with.

It frightened her in third year when Ron first kissed her cheek, after she'd cried buckets in the library.

It was difficult being Harry's friend, he always seemed to be the target of some trouble or another. Voldemort had attempted to kill Harry when he was a year old, but the killing curse could never harm Harry Potter.

He had been born out of Death, death by the Avada Kedavra curse, and there was no chance of the spell ever harming a single jet-black hair on his head.

Whenever she hugged her boys, it was always fierce. She never wanted anyone to take them away.

When she kissed them, she meant it.

She loved them.

Her parents had always taught her that her love was a gift, something to be shared with the man (or woman, her mother had added, as an afterthought) she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

"Yes I know." She'd said, so carefree.

She loved them now.

When Ron had kissed her, it had frightened her, but she couldn't stop thinking about it. A week after, they'd wished her goodnight and she'd pressed a feather-light peck to each of their cheeks.

Ron had blushed and Harry had looked at him.

"I don't know what happened!" He blurted out, and Hermione had smiled.

"See you guys tomorrow, okay?"

And she'd felt empowered.

Now it was becoming more difficult to have any of these homey moments with Her Boys. Sixth year and Dumbledore was doing his damnedest to turn Harry into a fighting machine, into a weapon.

"_Something they didn't have last time…_"

Sirius had died. It had killed Harry, and Hermione hated him for that.

Harry didn't smile much these days, just pressed his lips over his teeth if the situation called for it. He received concerned looks from many girls, but they weren't often serious.

Ginny looked more often than most.

Hermione thought that the redheaded girl was a bit of a tramp, but she always kept her opinion very private and covert. What if they ended up married someday? If Harry was to make the mistake, she'd rather she not be the reason they divorced.

Ginny would make a far better wife than Pansy Parkinson.

-- --

"Love these times, y'know that P-Parkinson? When 's just me, 'n you, 'n your da's Elf-Made mead…makes th'rest of these times jist about bearable, wha' d'you reckon, eh, Parkinson?"

Pansy was experimenting with this new development. A drunk!Draco was a talkative Draco. He was revealing bits of information left and right, and if he wasn't exactly eloquent in his inebriated state, at least she was getting something out of it.

"Oh yeah. This is_loads _of fun. You know your parents would like us to get married, Draco?" She said, sounding appropriately drunk to match his pace.

"I 'eard. 'S either you, or the younger Greengrass. 'Er older sister 'as been spoken for. 'Eard she's marrying 'erself to Greg. I always thought 'e was a bit too funny for girls, always's reckoned 'e'd be a lad'sman, meself."

"Oh Merlin D-Draco, do you really think so?" Pansy simpered, even though she'd been aware of that fact since the very first day of second year.

"I don't really want to get married to you, though, Pans." He said, sounding all of a sudden sharply in focus.

"W-What?"

"You 'eard me. Might have some funny children. I swear you're related to me." He said slowly.

"You're very much related to the Weasley's, too, you know."

"Not! Just the mother. She was a Prewitt."

"What I mean to say is, we're all related, Draco. Astoria Greengrass is your fifth cousin, twice removed." Pansy said slowly, not liking where this conversation was going.

Marrying Draco was_very much _a part of the plan.

"But the _blood_, Pansy, if my children have bad blood, they can't take over. I need—I need—"

"Just _what _do you need Draco?"

"I-I need…well, maybe I'd like to get married to a half-blood."

Surprise.

"Merlin's beard, Draco! A _half-blood_!"

"Ssshhh!"

"Might as well get married to a muggleborn then, mightn't you?"

Draco looked away.

"Oh bloody Agrippa, Draco. You don't just want any Mudblood, you want a _particular_Mudblood, don't you?" Almost forgetting to sound drunk.

Draco's eyebrows knit and he seems to see her for the first time.

"Where would you get that dreadful idea from, Pansy? You know I want nothing more than to marry a pretty Pureblood. It's my duty. Doing otherwise would be shaming my family name."

Fierce.

"_Nothing_ is more important than the Malfoy family name."

A tilt of the chin.

"Nooow, pour meh anotha glass of mead, there'sh a dear."

Slurring again.

Pansy sighs and pours him another glass of her father's finest drink, wondering, not for the first time, if Draco really was drunk after all.

-- --

A/n—Another short chapter (although, come to think of it, 1000 plus words is the longest one so far), delving into the lives of the Hogwarts young'uns, i.e. Drahco, Pahncey dearest and our daaaaahlink Hermy-own.

Of couuurse, ze next chapter all depends on what you do for me. Something bothers me. Why is it you always read, but never leave me any reviews? Why is it you never call me…_Godauthor_.

Lulz.

Peaches,

Anya

Oh yesss…have you all guessed who the Mudblood is?

It's JUSTIN FINCH-FLETCHEY, bitches!

Jk's all round.

See y'all lataz.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

**Incubator, 35CTUY6 Version WarGnoll in use.**

**Date: December 4**

**Time:10:48**

**The subject seems to be functioning healthily. According Fulborth's Law, the baby cannot survive outside of the host for approximately four hours. After such a time frame, the subject will not be able to survive as a result of the lack of food source. **

**Food source has been provided for this study.**

**Subject has received typical infant growth potions.**

**No significant adjustments have been made to such potions.**

**10:56 Subject shows sign of discomfort. **

**10:57 Soothed.**

**11:00 End section of I19 observance. Subject returned to comatose state. Size of tail on subject has not diminished. Skull has not fully formed. Next date of observation: December 10.**

**-- --**

"Shit, James! Shut up, you overgrown lout, we can't let them hear u—mmph! _Potter_!" Lily giggled as James pulled her flush against him, his hands pulling fervently at her breasts, a low moan emitting from his usually foul mouth.

"Mmm?" He looked up before leaning in to suckle at her breasts feverishly. Merlin, he'd waited for this _too damn long_. Since they'd last—Merlin. Months.

"D-do you hear?" Lily asked, cocking her head, momentarily distracting James from his current occupation.

"Hear what?" James asked, before using his free hand to travail cavalierly up Lily's skirt. She slapped at him impatiently before staring at a point past his shoulder.

James could see her face freeze, and she looked panicked for a split-second. Her face then morphed into blankness, and then into revulsion. Towards _him_.

"H-have to go. Can't." She grunted, twisting herself away from James and his hands. He stared at her, the bulge in his pants visible to anyone who might've been there to look. She spun off without another word, not looking at him as she adjusted her school skirt. With a flash of rare clarity, James saw how the scene might have looked to Lily. It was dark, frightening amongst the midst of the forest, and it wasn't a place any girl would have wanted to have sex in.

Definitely not if it was only her second time.

With a world-weary sigh, James turned to his current problem. His aching cock.

Fortunately, that problem wouldn't be too hard to fix. He was already so far gone. He slid his hand into his pants and groaned as he thought of how close he'd been.

_Lily_.

-- --

Harry sniffed and clutched his hands together. His eyes were burning, and his nose was tickling him like it never had before.

It was difficult, he realized. Living in this second bedroom while he succumbed to the seductive diseases, the dust, the germs, the _memories_.

**.**

Six years old, Dudley Dursley locked him up in the cupboard under the stairs. Mold had grown into the walls, and spiders the size of cats nipped mercilessly at his arms and legs, causing large, swelling pustules of red to appear and marr the pale skin.

He'd cried himself to sleep, after shouting loud enough to send him into a hacking, _wheezing_ fit.

He'd woken up a few hours later, and then he'd stared hard at the lock. He tried to get it open, artlessly groping at the handle, half out of his mind with hunger and the need to piss.

And, God, he was becoming claustrophobic.

The urine made a sickly trail down the inside of his leg, and the stench of the ammonia in the urea filled the small room more quickly, and stank more pungently that it would have in any bathroom. He couldn't stand the germs, no no no oh no no no sick germs, sick sick sick germs no wet sticky.

He started to feel dark edges yes yes, no more germs, yes no germs hahaha beat the sickness creep up at the corners of his vision before, in a final throe of desperation, he pushed hard on the door, and it swung open viciously, and with a shock, he found that he'd pushed the—admittedly weak—door off of its hinges.

**.**

Eight years old, he'd scrambled his pathetically thin, frail, _ill_ body up the Oak tree while Aunt Marge's dog Ripper snipped and yapped at his heels, threatening to scramble up the trees as he stared at him with hungry, bloodthirsty, feral dog eyes.

He'd never known where he'd found the energy from, but he thanked whatever otherworldly being was helping him out. He wasn't six anymore. He didn't believe in God.

**.**

In this second bedroom, he felt encumbered by the weight of his future, but memories of cupboards and dogs did not afford him much room for looking towards the past. It was all or nothing, now.

He blinked and wiped his glasses clean on his shirt, immaculate and neat as always, because he didn't dare deal with the germs in such close contact to his skin, and if his clothes didn't go to the wash, he meticulously cleaned them himself. Often did it anyway, just to be sure.

He stared once more around the room, thinking of how strange it had been when he'd found out—but not really surprising. He'd always known he was different.

-- --

"_Like, a weapon?"_

"_Somewhat."_

"_How somewhat, Professor Dumbledore?"_

"_A Weapon, but not weaponry. They will need it to prevail. They will need it to possess even the right to win this war."_

"_Have they got it really, then?"_

"_They are close, Harry. They are close."_

-- --

One last look, and then he got up off of the bed.

"Are yeh awl righ' there, Harry?"

This was his life now.

-- --

A/n—Short, yes. Exciting, not really. Important to the plot? Well, that depends on what you've inferred from the plot so far. Update soon, yes, so plus there. To clarify, Lily slept with James _once_. James is naïve enough to believe that he was her first time. But he couldn't have been, because, duh, Andrew Nott? Or WAS HE?? insert cheesy dun dun DUN music here.

Peaches,

Anya

And I promised myself I wouldn't do it for this story, but I'm reviewer responding for this story JUST THIS ONCE.

So here's to **sigma**, if you even decide to read past chapter one:

I appreciate your criticism, and your thoughts, but I wish you had expounded on it a little more fully. After all, isn't the purpose of fanfiction to break away from the tried-and-true storyline of the books? Isn't it completely acceptable to branch away from the main plot in search of different ideas? Isn't it the point of fanfiction to experiment? If you don't like it, I can't stop you, or anyone who reads this story, but please, give it a try unless you really can't stand to read it, and tell me what you think. I hate guessing how anyone thinks.

Thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

"Well, I'll be god­_damned_." Horace Slughorn stared intently at Harry for a brief moment before turning his eyes back to Dumbledore. The latter nodded almost imperceptibly, indicating to Slughorn that this was, indeed, the product of the unlikely alliance between James Potter and Slughorn's most revered student, Lily Evans. Yes, this boy was the reason Lord Voldemort had been on the, ah, _decline_, for thirteen years.

With deceptively steely fingers, Slughorn grasped Harry's jaw, turning it swiftly from side to side, marveling at the slim and brittleness of it.

Harry whimpered as Slughorn ran his finger around his hums, searching voraciously for any sign of _extraordinary_ Harry might have possessed.

Dumbeldore stared impassively as Slughorn ran his gaze over Harry's scar, starting only when Slughorn caught sight of Harry's eyes.

"That's enough."

Quiet.

It was too late. Slughorn had seen.

Electric.

Unfeeling.

Deathly.

_Green_.

Every last memory he had of the Avada Kedavra curse arrested him, from the murder of his grandmother, Emilia d'Escargot, to the dealing of the curse by his own hand to Jasper Alecto, a past student of his who he'd come across in battle. His mind ached with the memories of all the flashing green light that he'd ever known.

Moaned lowly, a pitiful sound in the back of his throat as Harry blinked, and the Green cleared itself from his mind.

He recovered quickly, attempting to seem unruffled and unconcerned. He chanced another look into Harry's eyes, bracing himself for the onslaught of the gruesome past.

Green eyes stared back at him, shards of liquid glass seeming to look straight through him. No memories came, but the Green still was achingly familiar to the light of the curse.

Slughorn was most surprised when Dumbledore spoke again. He'd forgotten the old wizard was even in the room.

"We'll all be most displeased if you choose not to return to us, Horace." A smile crept onto Dumbledore's wizened face as he waved a hand to the terrible boy beside him. "Harry will be most displeased if you decide not to return."

The cruel, harmful child smiled and spoke as well. "Yes, we would love it if you returned, Mr. Slughorn."

Innocence.

Slughorn could read only innocence. This boy was a tool.

"Call me Professor, Harry." Slughorn said, slowly.

"I'd love to, Professor Harry." That Boy joked, but his face dimmed and he bit his lip, as if he were unused to telling jokes.

Coughed, a wracking, wet thing that seemed to portray his lungs filled to the brim with fluid.

Slughorn smiled to release the boy's tension at the poor reception to his joke.

"Goodnight, Horace."

Dumbledore turned away, Harry flashed a smile, and the two left.

Slughorn had never been so happy to see the back of anyone in his life.

-- --

Staring at Potter was something Pansy had become intimately acquainted with. It started off as glaring terribly at Mudblood Granger (she _knew_ Draco doted on that dirty girl) and then she started glaring terribly at Potter.

Perfect Potter.

Potter with the eyes of emeralds, and the thick, black untameable hair girls wanted to run their hands through.

Potter and his feminine features arranged on his slim, pretty face, done in such a masculine way as to have no one question his maleness. Well, except for Pansy. His features simply begged note be made to his Pureblooded father.

Potter with his incessant cough and his wheeze.

Potter's shyness.

Girls wanted to devour Potter.

Deflower him, too.

Staring at Potter as she did, she honestly couldn't see what was so attractive. He looked like a girl (she grumbled often), and was prettier than she was (to herself, she only spoke as such). He even looked a bit like she did, unlike Draco who was pale and perfect and talking to _her_ again.

(not Pansy her. She wanted him to be talking to her. But _her _her. And Draco talking to _her _her _just would not do_.)

"Get out of my way, Mudblood." Draco sneered and pushed Granger harshly out of the way.

Potter's lip curled, and Weasley's fists balled up at his side as Granger rocked, unsteadied by Draco's rough shove. She glared at Draco after he'd turned, a black, hateful thing that caused Pansy to shiver.

He did not notice.

The bully in question approached her quickly, an insane grin alighting on pointed features. He had not seen that look. His eyes, silver with _something_, shone as he took his seat beside her.

"Hi Pans," he said breathlessly, smiling at her as he made to sit.

Glared at him.

His smile faltered and he seemed to shrink infinitesimally under her harsh gaze.

"What's wrong, Pansy?" Draco asked, the light slowly fading from his eyes.

"Don't you think you should be cutting all ties you have with nasty, foul, dirty Gryffindors? Especially since, oh, sorry if you've forgotten, your side is trying to fucking _off_ all of them?" She hissed.

Draco's face schooled itself into an expression of cool indifference.

"Don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Parkinson."

"Don't fucking curse at me! Don't pretend you don't know bollocks, Draco. I _see_, Draco Malfoy. She mightn't be able to, Weasley mightn't, even bloody Potter mightn't catch it, but I see. You have a fucking crush on Granger!"

Draco's lips went white at the corners.

"Shut up, Parkinson." He hissed as Pansy titled her chin.

They glared at each other like that for what seemed to Pansy like hours before Slughorn entered the room.

"Is there a problem, Malfoy? Parkinson?" He inquired, raising an eyebrow at Pansy's heated cheeks and Draco's murderously flashing eyes.

"No, Professor." Pansy replied and gave a stilted smile, grasping Draco's hand from underneath the desk.

Later, she kissed him with all she had and he'd grasped her tightly, murmuring Merlin-knows-what into her hair as her fingers scrabbled for purchase against his back.

This was to be her future.

Her Destiny.

Draco was her future.

Tears sprung to her eyes, and she tried her very hardest not to think of Potter's black head.

-- --

a/n--Remember when Dumbledore and the Potts went to Slughorn before sixth year to persuade him to teach? Well, back then the Pottinator did it with the good ol' charm of his. Now, er, his evil powers? Hmm…haha! Dramione action!! note. This story is not ship-centric. So yes. There is Dramione. Some chapters will be from Draco's (and maybe Hermione's) point of view. In the second person. Yes Harry is a virgin! Thus the "deflower". ). Next chapter—some Snape/Lily lovin'. That is to say. Snape loves Lily. And err…yeah. Review review review! I can see my last request tempted none…ahm…review a story—save a teenager from stepping off the brink of depression? Never mind. One last thing—Happy belated birthday to me…April 13th for realz!

Ok. Done now.

Peaches,

Anya.

Oh yes. Next chapter up soon because I love authors who update when they say they're going to. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**

Snape breathed in the night air and felt the cold envelop him in thick, wispy tendrils. It was possibly the most dismal night he'd ever experienced in his whole, short fourteen-year-old life, but he ignored thoughts of hot chocolate and warm Hogwarts beds and filled his insides with a different kind of warmth.

That night was _his _night, _his night_ to see his Lily. He missed her so much it hurt him, cut him truly. They hadn't talked much since third year, and whenever he did speak, he always said the wrong things, things about her idiot friends, things about his idiot friends, her idiot sister, the list of "those-are-off-topic-you-_know-_that-Severus" things he was supposed to remember, and the "well-they-wouldn't-be-bloody-secrets-if-I-told-them-to-you-would-they" answers he knew better than to question.

After weeks of not talking, Lily had finally agreed to meet him on the Quidditch pitch, at midnight, a few hours after she was to return from Hogmeade. With a sudden flash, Severus realised that it was probably so no one would see her with _him_ (especially not _James_, he thought bitterly), but as quickly as the thought came, he dashed it away.

Who was he to question the boons His Lily would grant him?

He was arrested by an onslaught of intense, biting wind, and he shivered even as he approached her.

She would seem to all who did not know her to be relaxed, calm, and almost languid as she stretched back, catlike, in the Quidditch stands. She wore only a simple cashmere pullover and denim trousers. A berry-coloured scarf was thrown haphazardly around her neck, and her head was tipped back and her eyes closed. Snape knew she wasn't the least bit relaxed, however. Her eyes were scrunched up as tight as she could make them, and her hands tapped an asynchronous, manic beat against the wizard plastic of the seats. She was breathing rapidly, and as he approached, her dark red eyebrows furrowed and her eyes seemed to blink even harder.

"You're early, Severus." She said softly, her voice ragged with _something_.

Snape nodded and played nervously with the hem of his ragged, almost threadbare coat. "I wanted to talk." He said firmly.

"Well then." Louder. "Let's talk."

-- --

"I'll keep watch out for you **love love love, my love dear, Master, Master Love**, and Rodolphus shall silence the filthy Muggles." Bellatrix Lestrange hissed, her deep, throaty voice hoarse with lack of use, and the presence of Desire.

Voldemort looked at her, his hood shading any expression she might have found in his cold, red **beautiful, oh so beautiful** eyes.

"There is no need for such amusing playtime tonight, dearest Bella. Tonight we have arrived as revenge for Traitors, and for the murder of those who dare strike against the Dark Lord."

Bellatrix Lestrange smiled, and bit her lips so the blood poured from the wounds her teeth made, and she smiled harder against them, causing the incisions to tear and become befouled with the exposure to the Dirty Muggle Air. How she loved her Lord, her Master, he who had taught her that the only way, the only way to Rid herself of the Taint from the forever besmeared, contaminated _Muggles_ was to kill them, to rip them open from the centre of their stomachs, to shred their intestines and feed them like worms through the sockets of their eyes, through the holes of their arses.

She could smell the Taint, could feel it radiating off of their skins, and could _only just_ keep herself in check, _sane_ (always a questionable word whenever it came to her), whenever she came even close to those Infected with It.

The _Taint_.

She kept herself pretty for her Dark Lord (but he was so white, so pure, so filled with the bounty and beauty of Magic **no Taint, no foul infection, spoil, spoil, stained, RUINED FOUL NASTY LITTLE CREATURES HATE THEM HATE THEM** not Dark, no, no not Dark), and she cut herself for him.

He loved her blood, her Pureblood, she knew he loved her too, and she did what he wanted because she loved _him_. So pure, white with the pureness of his Dark, no Taint, magic magic to the core…

He placed his hand on her shoulder and she jumped to attention, her eyes lighting up as his hooded lips creeping up in the barest notion of a smile.

"Rodolphus needn't kill any muggles today, love. Have him watch with you." Bellatrix eagerly nodded and filled to the brim with love for Her Lord **her white, PURE BEAUTIFUL Lord**, and grasped the hand of Rodolphus, her husband.

She loved Rodolphus as well, because he understood her perfectly!

He wanted the taint gone as well! Wanted them all erased, eradicated from the face of this, this world of pure White Blood!

Rodolphus loved the Dark Lord, and she loved him because they taught each other new, exciting ways to rid the world of the taint Each Day.

She smiled and waved at the retreating figure of her Light Lord.

Rodolphus smiled at her and waved as well, the two of them filled with unconditional love for her master. Then he fell upon her, and she felt his lips caress her own. And they were perfect, because they were not Rodolphus', but her Lord's, and she felt them touch her soul.

-- --

A/n—short…yes…I'm a slacker in this way. But this chapter was so difficult to write—not the Bella bit so much (mostly because I was supposed to be doing homework), but the Snape/Lily part (all 300 plus words of it) were written waaaaaay back around chapter five. I omitted it from six and seven, and I realised I would _have_ to put it in this chapter 8, I did promise Snape/Lily so here it is, in all its glory. Oh yes, and my computer shut down twice while writing, and after it recovered the document, it shut down again and lost it. Yes. Good. I even wrote a Writer's Block guide for this chapter. As a matter of fact, I think I'll do one, even if I'm not exactly good at overcoming Writer's Block (--), but I'll keep it in mind.

AGH. I swear, I love rambling.

OK. Business time. Next chapter I will definitely reveal more about SUPAHUMAN (more like, super-wizard) Harry, and, uh, more shippy stuff?

Oh yes. Whoring Lily makes a return. Enough for this chapter's A/N.

Peaches,

Anya


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